Is this “acceptable” grief?
These things feel socially “unacceptable” to mourn the loss of… But, I’m grieving them anyway.
Disclaimer: If you’re currently grieving the passing of a loved one, this might not be the right time for you to engage with this post. In what follows, I discuss some of the things I’m presently grieving that aren’t related to death; as such, I completely understand if me sharing about my experience with non-death-related grief might be triggering or upsetting for you right now. If this is the situation you’re in, I’m so deeply sorry and I’m sending love. I hope you’re giving yourself lots of grace!
The past two years have undoubtedly been the most challenging years of my life thus far. They’ve been filled with lots of pain - both physical and mental - as well as intense moments of hopelessness, panic, and a sense of purposelessness. I’ve primarily used some form of the word distress when speaking with those close to me to describe what I’ve been going through. However, what I’ve actually been feeling - but have been resistant to say out loud - is grief. This word seems reserved for those experiencing the types of pain and loss deemed “worthy” of mourning by our socially-determined standards; I’ve told myself repeatedly throughout the last couple of years that I don’t have the “right” to claim grief (and certainly not for such a prolonged amount of time).
I was recently listening to a podcast where the host expressed that she doesn’t feel like there is much time or space for grief in our culture. I started to think about how it seems that there are implicit categories of things that are “acceptable” to grieve publicly and those that are conversely “unacceptable.” Furthermore, I also feel as though there are all sorts of unspoken timelines about how long it’s “appropriate” to grieve something, as well as how “intense” one’s grief should or shouldn’t be. Disenfranchised grief, as it’s apparently referred to by psychologists and experts, “causes bereaved individuals to cut off sources of support, forcing them to suppress their grief, and causing their problems to magnify.”1
The reality is that I’ve recently experienced a lot of loss - I’ve lost pieces of my identity that I previously believed were necessary for my success, safety, and likeability. During the past two years, however, I haven’t lost an immediate family member, nor have I experienced a miscarriage or the death of a close friend. As such, I feel somewhat ashamed and slightly icky for admitting that I’ve been struggling so much with grief - especially when it seems as though, on the “scale” of loss, others have it far worse. But, I’m not sure that denying my own sense of loss is actually benefitting me, nor do I think that shaming myself for being emotional and sensitive is ultimately going to get me to a place of self-compassion and confidence.
A precarious thing about my personal self-talk is that it’s drastically different from how I speak to others (perhaps you relate to this!). Meaning, if a close friend came to me and shared that they were struggling with grief over something that felt “unacceptable” by society’s standards, I wouldn’t tell them that they should feel embarrassed or that they are wrong for feeling this way. But, in a similar vein to how I feel about weight/body size, what feels absolutely true for everyone else does not feel like it applies to me. Your worth is not dependent on your weight because it’s inherent in who you are - my worth, however, is determined by a number on the scale. You have every right to grieve and to feel your emotions intensely and fully - I, however, need to stop feeling sad and get over it. In ED recovery, it’s common for recovering individuals to be told that recovery isn’t linear and there isn’t one “right” way to recover; similarly, I’ve also heard that grieving isn’t a linear journey and there isn’t only one “right” way to grieve. Again, while I believe wholeheartedly that these sentiments are applicable to everyone else, I can’t get on board with them applying to me and my own recovery and grief journeys.
I’m probably not the only one who feels like they’re experiencing grief over things that have been labelled “unacceptable.” Therefore, in an effort to hopefully help someone else feel less ashamed, here are some things that I’m feeling an acute sense of grief over right now…
#1) I’m grieving the loss of my thinnest, sickest body. I’m fully aware that nourishing my body is the correct decision; I know that taking care of my body - the only body I have - by eating and resting is imperative in order to avoid severe long-term consequences. I know that weight gain is a physical sign of my progress, and is evidence of the fact that I’m getting healthier and stronger. HOWEVER, I’m overwhelmingly uncomfortable in this larger body. I hate how I look - I miss being thinner. I have a (warped) sense of nostalgia for my old body, even though I know that I objectively looked (and was) unhealthy. I think that ideas about being “thin” and “fit” became entangled with my sense of self - I became convinced that my worth as a human hinged on me being the smallest version of myself possible. As my body has changed since being in recovery and adjusting my behaviors, I’ve felt a profound sense of grief over losing my thinness. Even though I was the most anxious and unhealthiest I’ve ever been, I sometimes find myself legitimately craving that old body. When I have flashbacks related to under-eating, over-exercising, my clothes being way too loose, etc., I feel a sense of fondness and sentimentality lurking in the back of my mind. (If you haven’t experienced any sort of disordered eating, body dysmorphia, or negative body image in general, I realize that this sounds incredibly fucked up… BUT, it’s just simply the truth for me right now).
Another body-related loss I’ve been dealing with relates to my chronic pain. After exhausting all available treatment options over the past several years, I’m still experiencing a severe amount of pain, which has resulted in lots of physical limitations. As such, I’m grieving my “pre-pain” body - a body that was able to do certain things (like travel, dine at a restaurant, meet a friend at a coffee shop, sit in a classroom, etc.) that I’m currently unable to do. This situation has upended my life in ways that I could’ve never expected, and I feel as though I’ve subsequently lost years of my life that might have been spent making beautiful memories… Instead, I’ve spent all my time and energy just trying to make it through each day.
#2) I’m grieving the loss of my dog. My partner and I adopted the cutest, sweetest, goofiest puppy about five years ago, and we love him deeply. I really can’t articulate how much joy he brought into our lives. I think that we both would have done anything to keep him safe, and we genuinely felt like he was an integral part of our family. However, living in a tiny, cramped apartment was having a very negative impact on our dog’s health - he went through a two year stint where he was always sick and we were taking him to the vet constantly. He had a lot of significant allergies and he was terrified of leaving our apartment (the city overwhelmed him so much - he would shake violently every time we had to bring him outside). Ultimately, living in a small space in a major city was clearly inhibiting him from living a healthy, full life. As much as we desperately tried to make things work, we just couldn’t continue to justify actively causing him hard. We knew transferring him to a new environment - one with a large yard, lots of peace and quiet, people who could be home with him all the time, etc. - was the right decision. (And, this did end up being true. We know that he is now drastically healthier and happier). Re-homing our pup was absolutely devastating, even though prioritizing his wellbeing was the best thing we could do for him. (I’m crying as I type this). Even though it was 18 months ago, it still hurts so, so, so badly. I miss him more than I would have ever thought was possible. The day that we said goodbye to him was one of the worst days of my life (and I’ve had several days where I’ve wrestled with intense suicidal ideation due to the chronic pain).
I feel like I can’t talk about grieving our dog for multiple reasons: first, I obviously know that this is not even remotely comparable to the loss of a child; second, I also recognize that saying goodbye to a five-year-old dog isn’t the same as having an older dog pass away. Specifically when talking to people who haven’t ever had a dog, I feel immense pressure to either downplay the level of grief I’m experiencing over this or to repeatedly over-emphasize that I’m not at all trying to equate this situation to the loss of a child. I find myself self-consciously panicking that people will think I’m implying that this situation parallels the death of a human family member, which has never been my intention. While some people have undoubtedly been very supportive, I’ve also felt like others are secretly judging me for having such a difficult time and are privately wondering if I’m simply being overly “dramatic.” Overall, this seems like something that I need to “move on” from, and that I don’t have the “right” to feel this loss so deeply because our dog didn’t die (even though it feels as though he did, since he is now gone from our lives).
#3) I’m grieving the adolescent and young-adult years I could’ve experienced without the pressures and restrictions of a high-demand religion. I’ve alluded briefly to the fact that I grew up in an extremely conservative, southern environment where religion became intricately entangled with all aspects of my life. I often wonder what it would’ve been like to grow up without all the guilt, shame, and an incessant pressure to be “above reproach” (i.e. to follow a very long list of rigid rules). I grieve what my teenage years could’ve looked like if I had been allowed to be openly and authentically myself. What would my life have been like if I wasn’t constantly distraught about the possibility of others discovering that I was bisexual? What if I didn’t spend my most formative years with a voice lurking in the back of my head, whispering that there was something intrinsically wrong with me? What if I didn’t waste so much time trying desperately to force myself to believe things that felt deeply out of alignment with my core values? What if I hadn’t grown up believing that gaining weight was a “sin” that had significant consequences (i.e. separation from God) - would I still have the horrific body image issues that I do today? It’s difficult to not grieve the life that might have been (and all the ways that I might have been different, happier, healthier) if I didn’t spend so many years worrying that I was bound for eternal damnation if I failed to do X, Y, and Z. (Side note: I’m aware that wishing things had been different in the past ultimately doesn’t change anything about the present; I simply will never know “what might have happened.” However, as much as I know those things to be rationally true, I want to be honest that I do still deal with these thoughts).
While these are three of the main things that I’m grieving currently, I’ve also experienced grief after having to say goodbye to beloved therapists or when close friends have moved across the country. The loss of in-person community with people who you have intimate and meaningful connections with can be quite hard. I also know that friendship break-ups can sometimes be more devastating than romantic ones, which undoubtedly can foster grief.
My intentions behind sharing all of this are twofold: first, I’m hoping that this helps someone else feel like they aren’t “abnormal” or “bad” if they’re grieving things that aren’t related to death. You don’t need to simply “move on” (talking to myself here, too). Instead, I hope that you can grant yourself permission to feel and mourn as long and as deeply as you need to. I’m working on letting go of the guilt and embarrassment that I feel for grieving the things listed above (and the anxiety that’s brewing about sharing them online!); if you’re feeling similarly, I hope you can join me in trying to release any rules or timelines related to grief. Second, I want to be someone who abounds in empathy and kindness. I want to be someone who others feel comfortable talking about their grief with, and I want them to know that they’ll be met with compassion and understanding - not judgement. Therefore, if no one has told you recently (or ever!) - your feelings, your grief, your pain, your anger, your sadness, and everything in between is completely valid.
Sending love, light, and strength to all who are just doing their best to navigate life’s losses.
*** If you’re interested in reading thoughts like this on a more consistent basis, please feel free to subscribe to my Substack! I share similar reflections about all things related to ED recovery and mental health, but more frequently than I post blogs!